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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839255">River Deep and Wide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/pseuds/livia_1291'>livia_1291</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stand Still Stay Silent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M, Midsummer, Not Me!, Näkki Lalli Hotakainen, Scandinavian Folklore - Freeform, Yet another emilalli fairytale au, all of emil's cousins, also referred to as näcken, but the ship is there!, emil västerström - Freeform, in a nebulous time period, lalli hotakainen - Freeform, may write more in this universe, not actively super shippy, näkki au, onni is sad and ominous, siv and torbjörn know what's up, takes place in Dalarna, who knows - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:28:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26839255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/pseuds/livia_1291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> “I can tell from your eyes</em>
  <br/>
  <em> You've never been by the riverside.” </em>
</p><p>Emil Västerström sees something strange in the river on a bright Midsummer's Eve and he's determined to get to the bottom of it, no matter how dangerous.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lalli Hotakainen &amp; Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>River Deep and Wide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Русский available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089614">Река глубока и широка</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_Shiroi/pseuds/Kami_Shiroi">Kami_Shiroi</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SSSS_Team/pseuds/WTF%20Stand%20Still%20Stay%20Silent%202021">WTF Stand Still Stay Silent 2021 (SSSS_Team)</a>
        </li>


    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Midsummer in Sweden is a magical time of year. The chill of winter has melted into memory, and the time of eternal sunlight has chased the dark months away. The green valleys burst into a thousand colors, putting the fires of autumn to shame, and the rivers and waterfalls sing poetry as they tumble down the thawed-out rocks on their way to the sea. On Midsummer’s Eve, the year’s longest day, people pour out into the nightless night to sing and dance and drink and celebrate the time of plenty before winter sweeps down from the north again.</p><p>Siv and Torbjörn’s <em> landställe </em>outside of Mora is a far cry from the sprawling grounds of Emil’s family’s home estate, where Midsummer is more political than enjoyable. Instead of gold leaf and crown mouldings, the little cabin is painted cheerful falu red with chipping white trim. The gardens are full of tomatoes and berries instead of imported French roses, and there is only one bedroom, reserved for the lord and lady of the house. When he visits, Emil sleeps on the old, swaybacked couch while his little cousins pilfer every pillow from the house to lay their sleeping bags across so they can be close by.</p><p>“Hey Aunt Siv, where do you want these?” Emil calls, holding up a wicker basket full of tiny, fresh strawberries that he and his cousins have spent hours picking (and eating) in anticipation of Siv’s famous strawberry and lemon <em> Midsommartårta. </em></p><p>Siv looks up from where she is whipping meringue by hand, sweat gleaming on her forehead as she sets down the bowl and peers into the basket, quirking a brow. </p><p>“How many of these did you eat on the way back?” She asks, and Emil shrugs, sharing a secretive smile with his three little cousins, who hide their strawberry-stained hands behind their backs and tactfully avoid their mother’s sharp eyes.</p><p>“Just a few,” he admits, handing over the basket and reaching out to take just one more before she can smack his hand away. “You know you don’t have to whip the meringue by hand anymore, right? You can just get an electric mixer like everyone else.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes as she picks up the bowl and whisk, resuming her quick and forceful whipping. </p><p>“Some things,” she tells him, gritting her teeth through the soreness in her wrists, “are best done with care.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, examining his stolen strawberry and popping it into his mouth as he goes to flop onto the couch and regale his cousins with stories of his time in the military for the fifteenth time that week.</p>
<hr/><p>“Hurry up!” Torbjörn calls jovially from the threshold, watching his wife put the finishing touches on a glorious three-layer cake, and his nephew fussing over the brightly colored vests and skirts of his little cousins. “We don’t want to be late!”</p><p>“Emil, be a dear and help me carry this?” Siv asks, covering the cake with a glass dome to keep the bugs off of it. Emil slides his hands under the plate, carrying it as though it is the most precious thing in the world. His aunt gives him a fond smile, smoothing his richly embroidered jacket and hiking up her skirt as she joins her husband in the door. </p><p>“Alright, let’s go!”</p><p>Luckily for Emil, Sune, Håkan, and Anna, there were just enough strawberries left over for Siv’s cake. Emil places it on the communal feast table while Siv and Torbjörn greet everyone, and his cousins dash off to play chase with the other village children. He’ll stay for a brief conversation, and then go off to enjoy the festivities while his aunt and uncle talk to the other adults about boring things like taxes and the EU.</p><p>Someone places a crown of bright summer flowers on Emil’s head, and he turns to thank them, but before he can determine who it is (probably Astrid - she’s had a crush on him since they were children) his eyes fall on someone off to the side, leaning against a birch tree with a cup of what Emil knows to be very strong Akvavit. He is dressed in strange clothing, and his hair is an odd, pale silver color. It only takes one look for Emil to know that this man is not from around here.</p><p>“Who is that?” he asks Torbjörn, and his uncle frowns, brows furrowing as he tries to remember.</p><p>“Onni!” He exclaims finally, snapping his fingers in triumph. “That’s his name! His Swedish isn’t very good, but from what we could get, he’s a traveller of sorts. Came here within the last year looking for...something.” Torbjörn shrugs, taking a sip of the sweet lingonberry juice in his cup and licking the rest from his lips. “Guess he hasn’t found it yet.”</p><p>“Hm.” Emil watches the man for a moment longer before going after his cousins, praying to the gods he’s sure aren’t listening that they haven’t gotten into too much trouble yet.</p><p>He doesn’t mind watching the children - he’s always been good with them, and he appreciates how they don’t expect anything extraordinary of him. Here, he isn’t Lieutenant Emil Västerström, only son and heir to the Västerström estate. He’s just Emil, who’s fun, and good at braiding hair, and if nobody’s looking, he’ll pick them up and carry them so that it feels like they’re flying.</p><p>“Cousin Emil!” Howls a tow-headed child who is definitely not Emil’s cousin. “Lukas took my flowers!”</p><p>“Give them back, Lukas,” Emil chides gently, holding out his hand. Lukas pouts, but does as he’s asked, and Emil smiles widely. “Thank you. How about we pick some flowers just for you later?”</p><p>There’s an enthusiastic nod of agreement, but Emil hardly notices  it - he is too entranced by the sudden sound of singing floating up from the river just downhill. It’s silvery and honey-sweet, and Emil instantly decides that he has never heard anything so alluring. He has to get closer.</p><p>“I’ll be right back, Lukas. Stay...here,” he manages, getting up off his knees and breaking into a jog in the direction of the river. </p><p>The reeds and sedge on the steep banks are thick, and their sharp edges cut at the bare skin of his arms, but Emil hardly notices. He is too focused on his goal to worry about little scrapes and bruises. The water, frigid snow melt down from the mountains, eddies towards the rocky islands that dot the riverbed like jewels, and Emil knows deep in his gut that he has to reach one of them. All he knows is that he <em> must </em> find out who is singing that beautiful song. It’s his only purpose in life, the only thing he has ever wanted, the only thing he can imagine. It’s all-consuming.</p><p>If he strains, he can pick out words in a strange language that lilts and tumbles like the river itself. They’re liquid and slippery, and he tries desperately to grasp at them, to hold onto any part of this intoxicating melody before it fades away and leaves him hollow and empty. What was life before this song? </p><p>Emil doesn’t know what the words, which are becoming progressively clearer the deeper he wades, mean, but he can tell they’re a lament. The mud sucks at his polished black shoes as he tramps through the shore grass, kicking up bugs and startling fish back into the depths. </p><p>“Hello?” He calls, and his own voice sounds distant to his ears, as though they’re stuffed with cotton fibers. The water is up to his knees now, and he can feel its deadly power as it rushes past. “Who’s down here? You’re sad, aren’t you? Why are you singing?”</p><p>When he calls out, the music stops, and instantly, he is snapped out of his trance. The contrast between music and silence is so dizzying that he stumbles, lurching backwards into the reeds with a shout and a splash.</p><p>“För i helvete!” He groans, looking down to examine his muddy hands and soaked clothing. As he struggles to his feet, something in the middle of the river catches his eyes, and he nearly falls on his ass for a second time.</p><p>Watching him from the dark waters near the spruce-crowned isle are two brilliantly glowing eyes, electric blue and more mesmerising than the song that lured him to the water in the first place.</p><p>“It’s you, isn’t it?” Emil whispers, but before he can say anything else, he is yanked out of the water by his shirt collar.</p><p>“What are you doing?!” Siv hisses, and Emil blinks, before realizing what this must look like.</p><p>“Siv! I didn’t have anything to drink!” he protests, holding his palms up in a gesture of peace. “I swear it, I just heard this...this <em> song</em>. It was so beautiful, I had to see who was singing it.”</p><p>Siv is still looking at him like he’s gone completely crazy. He knows he must look the part, dripping wet and muddy and babbling about someone singing by the river, but he doesn’t care - he knows what he saw. She has to trust him.</p><p>“You have to believe me, Aunt Siv, I saw their eyes! They were blue, near the island, there’s somebody out there, we have to-”</p><p>“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she interrupts, resting her hands on his shoulders and steering him back up the hill. For the first time since he had stumbled down to the riverside, Emil feels the chill of wet cloth on his skin, and he shivers, glancing back over his shoulder to the still water.</p><p>“I saw something,” he murmurs, “I know I did.”</p><p>As Siv guides him back to the cabin to change out of his soiled clothes, he doesn’t notice the man by the birch tree watching him with begrudging intrigue over the rim of his long-empty cup.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s not long before dusk begins to return to southern Sweden, bringing cooler nights and early-morning fog that rises up from the river and shrouds the whole valley in pearly white. Emil has written to his parents to request an extended stay in the countryside, and they write back their approval almost immediately, praising him for his devotion to his little cousins and filling pages on pages with gossip about the surrounding estates that Emil skims, and then uses as kindling for the fireplace on unseasonably chilly nights. </p><p>There is much work to be done between midday naps and playing hair salon with Sune, Håkan, and Anna. Emil learns how to tend the vegetable garden and identify the edible mushrooms and berries in the forest from Siv, and Torbjörn teaches him to carve and paint little wooden horses in the evening hours as they digest their dinner.</p><p>It’s a good life. Peaceful, bucolic, everything his home in Östersund isn’t. By all means, this should be a refreshing break for him, but he is losing more and more sleep as the days go on. Those ice-blue eyes in the river haunt him in the quiet darkness after everyone else has gone to bed. He tosses and turns, trying to block out the music that still fills his ears when the world should be still and silent, trying to forget the unnatural sadness that filled his chest upon hearing it.</p><p>Nobody believes what he saw. He knows that now. Siv had brushed him off, and when he tried to tell Torbjörn, his uncle had assured him that he was just seeing things.</p><p>“It was probably just the sunlight off the rocks,” he reasoned, grabbing a piece of fine sandpaper to smooth the back of the little horse he was whittling. “Or…” Emil looked up to meet his uncle’s sparkling eyes and mischievous smile, arching a brow in silent question. “Maybe you saw the näcken, spirit of the pools and eddies, hm?Good thing he didn’t try to drown you!”</p><p>Emil laughed along with his uncle’s teasing, but behind his tense smile, a plan was growing.</p><p>Before his experience by the river, Emil wasn’t one to believe in the supernatural. What was the point of believing in something so intangible? If things like näcken, trolls, and hulder were real, then why wasn’t there more information on them? It all seemed entirely too convenient for his taste.</p><p>Now, as he carefully manoeuvers his way around his sleeping cousins, he can only hope that there is enough information to keep him safe. He grabs his folding knife from the chipped ceramic catch-all bowl by the door and tucks it into his pocket, taking comfort in the familiar weight against his thigh. There isn’t much time before the sun will rise again, and his little cousins will be up with it. Emil knows he has to hurry if he wants answers.</p><p>The world is fast asleep as he pushes the door open and creeps into the dewey night, shivering at the texture of cool grass on his bare feet. In the distance, he hears the river skipping and singing over the rocks, and if he strains--<em> there</em>. </p><p>Instead of singing, there is the sound of an instrument, faint and rhythmic, and Emil takes a deep breath before breaking into a run, timing his footsteps to the beat of the music. There is a push and pull to it, like the moon and the tides, and every step he takes feels like a dance. He is breathless when he reaches the muddy riverbank, but he does not have time to stop and breathe. Not if he wants to remain safe.</p><p>Digging in his pocket, he comes up with his knife, and carefully unfolds it before casting it onto the slick riverbank with a soft <em> smack</em>: a charm to prevent unwelcome approach.</p><p>“I know you’re here!” He calls, scanning the glassy surface of the water for any sign of those uncanny blue eyes. “Show yourself!”</p><p>This time, the music does not cease at the sound of his cry, and he frowns, taking a step closer to the water. The cold mud squelches between his toes, and he hisses when the water laps at his pant legs, sending a shiver racing down his spine. This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t be here - he knows that he’s dabbling in forces that are far beyond his control and understanding. At this point, he’s just asking for trouble.</p><p>“I hear your music. Why are you so sad?” He coaxes, keeping his voice far lower this time - perhaps yelling at the river isn’t the way to go.</p><p>This gentle tone of voice seems to do something - the music grows quieter, and out on one of the rocky islands, Emil notices a flash of movement, almost too quick to see. </p><p>“You’re on the island, aren’t you?” He breathes, more to himself than to the creature that he is now certain is not a figment of his imagination. Holding his breath, he drops to his knees and watches the shore of the island with rapt attention, waiting for another little flicker of movement.</p><p>After a solid five minutes of crouching in the mud, the music stops, and from behind a massive boulder comes one delicate hand, and then another. Emil has to stifle his gasp when the rest of the creature follows, because he’s <em> human</em>, or rather, almost human. His eyes are still that burning, starlight blue that has been haunting Emil since the first time he saw them on the eve of the longest day.</p><p>The creature is crouched on the shore opposite him, watching with a still expression that is much like the smooth waters of the river, and Emil is enchanted. He is narrow and lean, with skin paler than the moon and hair that hangs lank and damp around his the razor edges of his jaw. The only thing covering his nakedness is a cloth that looks like it had been woven of fog - it winds around his bony hips, and drapes up over one shoulder, where it falls to the rocks and floats around his feet like mist. At his left is what Emil recognizes as a kantele, a five-stringed instrument from far-away Finland: that must be the source of the music he had heard.</p><p>“Hello,” Emil whispers, before realizing that that’s probably a stupid way to greet a supernatural river entity. Honestly, what does one say to a näcken? He didn’t read that far in the book he found in the library - he didn’t expect to actually <em> find </em> a näcken. The näcken just stares at him, still and unblinking, and Emil exhales, deciding to try again.</p><p>“I saw you. On midsummer, a few weeks ago. You were singing. It was very beautiful.”</p><p>Still no words (can näcken even speak, he wonders,) but this time, the näcken shifts, drawing himself up straight, and Emil notices the river weed caught in his hair and around his ankles. The creature cocks his head, staring up at the setting moon, and then down to the river. With all the fluid grace of a dancer, he steps into the water, and leans down to pick up his kantele, shrugging the shroud from his shoulders in the process.</p><p>Where there should have been smooth planes of skin interrupted only by the ridges of the näcken’s spine, there is a massive, rotting gash dripping with river muck and weeds. It is so many horrible shades of sickly green and brown and yellow, and Emil smacks his hand over his mouth to keep his stomach from crawling up his throat, but it’s too late. The näcken whips around to face him, hiding his hideous, rotting back from view and hissing a single word before dissolving into water.</p><p>“<em>Onni.</em>”</p><p>Emil retches.</p>
<hr/><p>It takes a few days before Emil is ready to return to his investigation - when he stumbles home in the early hours of the morning covered in muck and barely able to choke down his own vomit, he’s grateful that his family is still asleep. He hoses himself down outside and changes into clean, dry clothes, deciding that it would be best not to try to sleep again. Instead, he makes tea and sits in one of the painted rocking chairs on the porch, taking slow sips to try to calm his queasy stomach.</p><p>There is a näcken in the river. A real, live näcken, with glowing eyes and a horrible back and a voice sweeter than sugar. He hadn’t just been seeing things on Midsummer. It was real.</p><p>“No one’s going to believe me,” he mutters to himself, taking a deep breath of crisp morning air as the sun rises above the treetops and his little cousins begin to stir in the house. He’s already awake, so he decides that he’ll make them toast with butter and jam so his aunt and uncle can sleep in, and then he’ll make up some excuse about needing to write letters, and slip off to the library.</p><p>Siv and Torbjörn are so grateful for the extra hour of sleep that they don’t protest or ask questions when Emil mentions that he needs to go off to the library, and he’s able to slip off without consequence, (after telling his cousins to be good and behave, and that he’ll be back for supper.)</p><p>The library is a tiny, low stone building with a handful of windows that contains most of the books in the township, from all of the Icelandic sagas to a shelf nearly buckling under the weight of cookbooks with names like <em> Cooking with Blueberries </em> and <em> 1001 Porridge Recipes</em>.</p><p>None of those books are the reason Emil is there. He is searching for the messy stack of newspapers stuffed away in a beat-up cardboard box in the corner that date back at least two centuries. </p><p>With utmost care, he lifts the lid, sneezing in response to the puff of dust that floats up from the floor when he set it down. The most recent newspaper, resting on the very top of the stack, is from two weeks ago according to the date printed at the top in dark block letters. Emil hums his approval, scooping up a stack of the disintegrating papers and plopping them down on a low wooden table to get to work.</p><p>Three hours and countless newspapers later, Emil has determined a disturbing pattern from his pages of scribbled notes. </p><p>There were no sightings of a näcken in the river prior to last year, but it turns out that he is far from the only one to have seen the creature. It showed itself around full moons, the equinoxes, and the solstices - times when magic was supposed to be strongest. So far as all of his sources had told him, the näcken wasn’t out for blood - it did not seek to drown or devour or destroy. It only stared and sang its lament.</p><p>The strangest report he found is a handwritten notebook stuffed in with the mythology books he had slowly been picking his way through. It takes him a bit to make out the slanting handwriting and the terrible Swedish, but the entries speak of a loved one lost, and a man who had traveled from far away to find him and bring him home, only to be stopped just short of the finish by some sort of… Emil can’t make out the word there - it appears to be written in another language, one that made good use of its vowels.</p><p>As he snaps the little journal shut, the flaking gold letters on the spine catch his eye - they are so worn that he hadn’t noticed them before, but if he tilts the book in the late midday light, he can just make out the name of the owner: <em> Onni Hotakainen</em>.</p><p> Emil grabs his bag and stuffs the notebook into it, along with three of the newspapers that he deems to be the most important. The näcken’s one word to him is finally beginning to make sense.</p>
<hr/><p>“Excuse me?” Emil raps on the door with his knuckles for the third time, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Anyone home? Is this where Onni Hotakainen lives?”</p><p>Once again, there is no answer, but a tiny, whispery voice in the back of Emil’s mind tells him to try one more time. He knocks twice more, and the door swings open. All at once, he finds himself face to face with a glowering man with strangely familiar silvery hair, and he knows that he’s going to have to have a very good explanation for disturbing him. </p><p>“What?” Barks the man in thickly accented Swedish, and Emil swallows past the sudden twist in his chest, digging in his bag and coming up with the little journal. </p><p>“I think this belongs to you,” He says, extending it to the man, who snatches it roughly from his hands. Reverent fingers trace the worn cover and thumb through the pages, and Emil can’t help but feel as though he had definitely intruded on something private in reading it.</p><p>“...Thanks,” the man mutters, stepping aside to let Emil in. “I assume you want some reward? I can sing a <em> runo </em> for your garden, if you want. You’ll never have to weed it again.”</p><p>Emil doesn’t quite know what to make of an offer like that, so he clears his throat and crosses the threshold. </p><p>“Actually, I was wondering what you know about the näcken that lives near the bend in the river.”</p><p>Onni stares at him, utterly dumbfounded, but Emil holds his gaze, and clarifies, “I’ve met him. He said your name. I think...I think I’m supposed to talk to you?”</p><p>The door shuts behind him with a click, and Onni waves to the living room with a heavy sigh. </p><p>“I think you should sit down.”</p>
<hr/><p>“So...the näcken is...or was...your <em> cousin</em>?” Emil repeats, turning a mug of steaming willow bark tea between his palms to keep himself grounded. “That’s crazy.”</p><p>“Näkki. We’re Finnish. You wanted the truth, didn’t you?” Onni is growing impatient - Emil can tell by the way he paces the length of the tiny living room over and over. By the time this conversation is over, the old carpet will be worn all the way through, he thinks. </p><p>“Okay, okay. Sorry.” He takes a long sip of the willow tea, crinkling his nose in distaste at the flavor - it’s like drinking from like a cup of mud. “So what do we do about it?” </p><p>“What do <em> you </em> do about it,” Onni corrects him, stopping in front of him and taking a sip from his own cup. “I can’t reach him, he won’t listen to me. For some reason or another, it has to be you. He’s lost, and far from home, but he’s also very powerful. This will be a delicate task, and we don't have much time. The longer he stays like this, the less human he'll become.”</p><p>This isn’t at all what Emil imagined himself signing up for when he found that journal, but there isn’t any other way now. He’s neck-deep in this. One false step and he’ll be in over his head.</p><p>“Listen to my instructions very carefully,” Onni is telling him, “and if you do it right, he <em>might</em> not kill you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Emil is late coming home, but as he approaches the little red cabin, there is no smoke rising from the chimney, no smell of frying onions and mushrooms, no sounds of bickering and laughter.</p><p>“Hello?” He calls as he sheds his jacket and hangs it by the door. “Anyone home?”</p><p>“Emil!” Siv hurries into the atrium, face stained with tears and eyes rimmed red from crying. Behind her, Torbjörn is holding Håkan and Anna, whose little faces are solemn. “Where have you been? You weren’t at the library!”</p><p>“I was visiting a friend. Aunt Siv,” Emil begins, counting the people before him in his head, and then counting them all again, “where is Sune?”</p><p>She dissolves into sobs before she can tell him, and that is all the answer Emil needs.</p><p>“They were playing by the river, we thought they were there with you,” Torbjörn clarifies, voice hoarse from shouting his son’s name. “Sune...waded too deep.”</p><p>“This is my fault,” Emil realizes with dawning horror, reaching for his jacket again and throwing it over his shoulders. “I have to make this right. I’ll...be right back.”</p><p>“Emil. Emil, don’t--!” Emil is gone before his aunt or uncle can grab him and pull him back, running through the streets, across the field, all the way to the riverside where the moon is rising full and bright over the water.</p><p>“They’re going to come after me,” he pants, feeling in his pockets for the things Onni had given him. The plan was to wait until the moon started to wane, and with it, the näcken’s powers, but this had become a matter of life or death. Emil refused to let that creature take his cousin, sweet, quiet, thoughtful Sune… The thought is almost too much to bear, so he shoves it from his mind to focus on the task at hand.</p><p>In his pocket is his trusty folding knife and a length of silk rope dyed blue with indigo flowers. He drapes the rope over his shoulder and presses the tip of the knife to his finger with a hiss, drawing it away and examining the bead of blood welling there. Three perfect drops fall into the water where they diffuse like rubies into the current, and Emil stands ankle deep and waits.</p><p>All at once, the river begins to boil and churn, frothing silver in the starlight. When the näcken emerges, Emil is ready with the rope, and he pounces, taking them both tumbling into the shallows with a splash.</p><p><em> Hold on tight, </em> Onni had told him, <em> if you let go, he’ll drown you. </em></p><p>The näcken shrieks his indignation, thrashing wildly as Emil winds the rope around his shoulders to pin him.</p><p>
  <em> Crack. </em>
</p><p>There is a noise like a whip, and Emil is on the back of a white horse that is bucking and dancing across the surface of the water. The rope is still tight around the creature’s neck, and Emil tugs at it, winding his fingers through the silvery-white mane in a desperate attempt to stay on.</p><p>
  <em> Crack.</em>
</p><p>A lynx, white as snow, but with those same unsettling blue eyes takes a swipe at Emil with sharp claws, and it takes all of his willpower not to let go and skitter out of the way.</p><p>
  <em> Crack.</em>
</p><p>There is nothing coherent about the thing Emil is holding onto now - it’s all sharp teeth and claws and bone, and it’s hard to find anything to grip, so he holds onto the rope as the näcken makes a mad dash towards the deep.</p><p>
  <em> Crack.</em>
</p><p>They are submerged, and in the green underwater light, Emil realizes that he is holding the man again, slender and surprisingly strong despite the enchanted rope wound around his skinny shoulders. He kicks his way towards the surface, ignoring the biting and scratching that he knows will leave marks. It hurts, but he’s focused on his mission. Sune’s life is at stake. He can’t lose this fight.</p><p>“Stop!” Emil gasps as he breaks the surface, hacking up the water in his throat as the being beneath him writhes and howls. “I know who you are! You’re Lalli! <em> Lalli Hotakainen!</em>”</p><p>There is a flash like lightning, flickering and brilliant, and the creature in his arms arches as thought electrocuted. Suddenly, Emil feels like he is made of stone. They are sinking, sinking into the soft river mud and weeds, and oh, he is so tired, so cold, it would be so <em> easy </em> to just slip off…</p><p>Someone takes him by the waist and pulls him back towards the surface, and when they break through into the dazzling morning light, Emil passes out. </p>
<hr/><p>He’s not sure how long he’s out, but when he comes to, he is laying in the mud and sedge on the riverbank with his head cradled in someone’s lap. His lungs feel clear, which is strange since he's almost certain that he just drowned in the river, but stranger things have happened, so he takes a deep breath and blinks in the morning sunlight. A man is staring at him with wide grey eyes, and when he notices Emil is awake, he uses use one slender finger to brush a strand of wet hair from his cheek in a motion that feels like reassurance. </p><p>“Who are you?” Emil croaks, sitting up and groaning at the aches in his body. It feels as though all of his bones have been broken and knit back together in the span of an hour. His shirt is soaked, muddy, and absolutely shredded, but where there should be fresh claw and teeth marks, there is only smooth, healed skin.</p><p>“You know who I am,” the man says in a whisper-thin voice that Emil would know anywhere, and he sucks in a breath, pausing halfway through struggling to his feet.</p><p>“Lalli.”</p><p>“You saved me. So I...healed your wounds. Since I made them.” He looks away, suddenly sheepish. “Sorry.”</p><p>“What about my cousin?” Emil doesn’t even have the energy to ask about the whole “healing wounds” thing: clearly the world is full of things he doesn’t understand.</p><p>“With your aunt and uncle,” Lalli assures him as he rises from the shallow water, and Emil slumps over in relief. Lalli catches him, grunting under his weight and slipping in the river mud. For the first time, Emil notices that he is still only wearing a white shroud, now completely ordinary and just as muddy as his own clothes. </p><p>“We should get back to the village,” he manages, waving a hand up the hill that he knows is going to be a terrible climb. “Your cousin really wants to see you. And, uh, you should probably get some real clothes.</p><p>Lalli quirks a brow. “You think?”</p><p>Emil snorts, and together, they start up the hill back towards the village.</p>
<hr/><p>Onni, Siv, and Torbjörn are utterly beside themselves when they see Emil and Lalli, and they are instantly scooped into two separate (but equally tearful) embraces.</p><p>“Our little Emil!” Sobs Siv, and Emil winces as she crushes him against her chest. Torbjörn folds them both close, and Emil can feel the way he’s shaking. “<em>Stupid </em> boy, what were you <em> thinking</em>?! We thought we’d lost you too!”</p><p>“Sorry,” Emil murmurs, and continues to lean on them even after they’ve pulled away, because it’s been quite an emotional day, and he’s exhausted. </p><p>Lalli squirms free of Onni’s embrace and gratefully accepts the long jacket he offers him to keep warm and covered, breathing in the familiar, smokey scent of <em> home</em>.</p><p>“Tuuri’s missed you,” Onni says, digging his hands into his pockets as Lalli draws the jacket tight around his slight frame. “Missions aren’t the same without you. I was starting to worry that…” He swallows, and Lalli rolls his eyes when he notices the tears shining in Onni’s, “That we’d never get you back.”</p><p>“Wait, wait,” Emil interrupts, lifting a hand to stop Onni. “What do you mean <em> missions</em>? What <em> exactly </em> is it that you do?”</p><p>Onni and Lalli exchange a look, and Onni clears his throat, drawing himself up and pulling a pin from his breast pocket. Siv and Torbjörn lean forward to examine it and have to stifle their gasps, but Emil remains puzzled.</p><p>“I don’t get it. What does that mean?”</p><p>“They’re monster hunters, Emil,” Torbjörn murmurs, “They have been for centuries. The Hotakainens are one of Finland’s oldest families. Rumor said that they were gifted by their gods to protect humans from the creatures that used to plague the lands that we call Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Finland. But about a century ago, they just…”</p><p>“Disappeared,” Onni finishes, tucking the pin away. “We were being chased by something that wanted our magic for itself. Going into hiding was necessary.”</p><p>“But it only protected us for so long” clarifies Lalli, “It found us a year ago. Took me in a moment of weakness. I wanted to get as far from my family as possible before I could hurt them. I ended up here before I ran out of strength.”</p><p>“But we’re safe now. Of course you’ll be coming home immediately,” Onni babbles, but Lalli has already stopped listening, pretty almond eyes trained on Emil, who gives him a wan, but affectionate smile.</p><p>“Actually,” he murmurs, cutting Onni off and padding across the grass to stand in front of Emil, “I have some unfinished business here.”</p><p>Onni stares in shock, before pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes with a theatrical groan.</p><p>“Oh no, you have <em> got </em> to be kidding me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello friends! </p><p>Here's a little something unheimlich for you to enjoy since it is officially spooky season! You guys probably know by now that I love myths and fairytales so the näkki/näcken au was a must. I've wanted to write something for it for a bit, but I never had the proper inspiration. Agnes Obel's song Riverside did the trick! It's also important to me that you know that I was imagining Emil in the Dalecarlian folk costume during the midsummer festivities. I'm not sorry at all.</p><p>School is kicking my butt, but I'm happy to be back home and settled in.  S/o to my excellent roommates who keep me from losing my mind and also blast ABBA 24/7. The seasons are turning, and soon the dark months will be here again, so right now I'm enjoying the sunshine when I'm able to get out.</p><p>Your comments and kudos mean so much to me, and I hope everyone's been doing alright! All my love to all of you!</p><p>xx.</p><p>Liv</p><p>GLOSS:<br/>Landställe: Swedish. A summer home/cabin.<br/>Midsommartårta: Swedish. A midsummer cake. There are countless recipes, but strawberries are a must!<br/>För i helvete: Swedish. Profane. Something like "for fuck's sake!"<br/>Näcken/Näkki: Swedish and Finnish respectively. Also known as nøkk, nøkken, nixie, neck, and about a million and three other names. The myths surrounding this water spirit known for its shapeshifting gifts are many. Often an extraordinarily beautiful and very talented musician who can make the trees dance and the water sing - popular instruments were fiddle or accordion. Can be benevolent, and sometimes will teach you to play its instrument. Could also be malevolent and try to drown you. Protect yourself by throwing a knife onto the shore, greeting it by name, or tethering it. Can be killed or uncursed by speaking its true name. I ABSOLUTELY took some liberties here (the scene with the rope/bridle is more inspired by a kelpie.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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